


The Tower

by OhNoMyBreadsticks



Series: Of Gods and their Humans [6]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Angst, Elder God, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Implied/Referenced Captain Allen/CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, M/M, Magic, Minor Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed, No Smut, Not Really Character Death, Throat Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23774089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoMyBreadsticks/pseuds/OhNoMyBreadsticks
Summary: While Gavin makes his way into Kamski Mansion, Hank and Connor wait for him outside, anxiously hoping for the best. Unbeknownst to them, a face both familiar and new is waiting just around the corner, determined to stop them if he can.The Tower tarot represents crisis, destruction, and liberation. But for who? And to what end?
Relationships: CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60/Elijah Kamski, Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Of Gods and their Humans [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1219730
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	The Tower

**Author's Note:**

> I am excited to present this missing scene from _What Makes Up a Man_! Are you wanting to find out what happened to Hank and Connor and where all that blood came from? Then this is the fic for you! You can find a timeline/explanation of the AU [here](https://ohnomybreadsticks.tumblr.com/be9timeline)
> 
> I came back to this fic after a bit of a rough patch creatively, and it’s been a joy to write this exactly the way I wanted to - the way I imagined it all the way back when I first started this series. So I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> As always, my incredible beta is [thislittlekumquat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thislittlekumquat/pseuds/thislittlekumquat) and I can’t thank her enough for her tireless enthusiasm and encouragement and also how she never gets fed up with my ellipses bullshit XD

Hank watches Gavin go and feels a strange sense of worry settle in the pit of his stomach. It’s not as if his life as a policeman hasn’t trained him to be familiar with the feeling of walking into a dangerous situation. And this is  _ definitely _ a dangerous situation, with their car sitting on the side of the road just outside of the view of Kamski mansion. At any moment they could be discovered, and then Hank will be the one driving the getaway car in a chase instead of the other way around. Yet somehow, seeing Gavin’s hunched shoulders begin to disappear in the distance has Hank feeling more sick than he ever remembers being when he was on active duty.

Maybe it’s because he feels genuinely bad for the kid. It’s been obvious in the weeks that Gavin has spent in his house that he’s absolutely torn up over losing Niles. Hank’s a sound sleeper but his walls aren’t that thick and the sound of sobbing on the sofa’s a familiar one, after all. Maybe that’s it, that he feels a sort of twisted camaraderie with Gavin; they’re two humans caught up in this whirlwind of loss and love. A whisper at the edge of his consciousness reminds him that he and Gavin aren’t so alike after all, because  _ Gavin can still recover what’s been lost _ . 

“I hope he’s gonna be okay.” 

Connor’s voice cuts through Hank’s mind like a knife, jolting him out of that particular spiral. It’s something Connor’s uncannily good at, and Hank has stopped wondering if it’s some sort of god power or not. Because even if it is, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s an incredibly kind thing to do. He turns to see Connor leaning on the car, ears tipped slightly back and tail swishing between his legs. He’s wearing a rather ridiculous outfit as usual, a pair of jeans they bought from the thrift store and ripped a hole into, and then one of Hank’s ridiculously patterned shirts half tucked into the waistband. Connor seems to like them despite their garish prints, and Hank can’t help but admit that he likes the way Connor looks in his clothes. 

“Gavin’s a tougher guy than he looks, he’ll be fine,” Hank reassures Connor, stepping towards him and wrapping an arm around his waist. And he honestly believes that - the few glimpses he’s seen of Gavin’s real character having been of a man that wasn’t about to lay down and give up after life kicked him in the balls a few hundred times. After all, he was still here, same as Hank. Connor sighs and leans into Hank’s grip, seemingly still not satisfied, and Hank realizes suddenly that he may not have been talking about Gavin. After all, it is Connor’s brother who’s the reason for this rescue mission in the first place. Him being a god meant that Hank just hadn’t worried about him all that much.

“And I’m sure Niles is okay too. We’re gonna get him out and back to his forest in no time. Promise.” Hank said, looking down at Connor and flashing him half a smile. That seems to do the trick, and Connor’s ears do that thing where they twitch forward hopefully. It shouldn’t be, but it’s damn cute. He relaxes a little bit against Hank, and they spend the next few minutes together in more comfortable silence. It could be minutes, it could be longer, Hank honestly has no idea. He’s got an alarm on his phone for when an hour has gone by, at which point he’s going to start being really worried. But until then they don’t have much to do except sit and wait. 

Hank lets himself drift into a sort of half meditative state, the kind of place he used to go to when he was bored out of his mind at home on the couch, or stuck in some godawful administrative meeting. He and Connor will just wait it out here, things will be totally uneventful, and then Gavin will come back with Niles and they can all get the hell out of here. Get back to their normal lives, which Hank couldn’t believe he was thinking. That he had a ‘normal’ life he  _ wanted _ to get back to at all was wild in so many ways. And yet that was the honest truth, he really did want to get back to only worrying about what weird new TV show he and Connor were going to try out next or what crazy adventurous walk Connor was going to drag him on.   
  


Sadly, it seems like Hank’s attempts at meditating are going to be cut short, as Connor stiffens in his arms and pulls away. “What’s wrong?” Hank asks, worry shooting through him immediately as he tries to scan the horizon and pick up signs of an inbound vehicle. Connor’s ears are back and his eyes are narrowed as he… sniffs? Yeah, he’s absolutely sniffing the air, human nose going a mile a minute just like his fox form when he catches a whiff of something particularly appetizing. Hank isn’t sure it’s quite as charming like this. Part of that might be the expression on Connor’s face - it’s clear he’s not pleased about what he’s smelling.

“What’s wrong?” Hank repeats, reaching out to touch Connor’s shoulder. Sometimes words just don’t make it through the first time with Connor, and he needs a physical touch to remind him of where he currently is and what’s happening around him. It seems that’s the case now, as Connor’s eyes seem to refocus on Hank as soon as he’s touched.    
  
“I don’t know,” Connor says slowly, and that’s more disturbing than anything Hank could have imagined. Connor is usually the one with all the answers in these kinds of weird situations. “I thought I smelled someone. Someone particular. But that wouldn’t make sense,” he explains, skipping over key details or facts in a way that Hank has slowly trained himself not to mind. Connor takes a step away from the car, tail swishing anxiously around his legs, and then seems to remember himself. 

“I want to go see, but I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Connor admits, and Hank is unexpectedly proud of him for checking instead of bounding away on his own. He checks his watch - only fifteen minutes have passed since Gavin left - then considers his options. Maybe Connor has picked up a scent that could help them, or even more possibly, he’s picked up the scent of someone trying to ambush them. Going to investigate will ensure a cleaner getaway, and as long as they don’t take too long they should still be back in time to meet up with Gavin. Mind made up, Hank steps forward to stand next to Connor.

“Alright, we’ll go together then,” he says, and Connor takes his hand to give it a grateful squeeze. Then they’re off, Connor’s usual chatter silent for the moment. That in itself makes the situation feel even more dire, not that it needs more help with that. The world, Hank has found, always has a way of making things worse than they need to be. No one has ever accused him of being unprepared for this fact. Some might call it cynicism, or pessimism even. But Hank figures that given his personal history it was more correct to label his outlook on things as realism. 

The sinking feeling in Hank’s gut only gets worse as they approach the Kamski mansion - even from the side it’s unnerving, all grey and black metal jutting out of the ground like some sort of grand construction accident. Except it belongs to a rich person, so it probably cost more than Hank has ever had in his life. Maybe capitalism was the true monster all along, he thinks grimly, but is pulled out of his introspection by Connor suddenly tugging at his hand and pulling them both forward before suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. 

There, on the side of the building, is a small door, one of those that blended into the wall when it was closed. It was currently opening, and a lone figure was stepping out onto the grass. Strangely, the first thing Hank notices is that they’re barefoot. Which is, in the grand scheme of things, the least weird thing about this person by a long shot. Because there, in a wine red robe with silver and gold jewelry looped across his chest, is Connor. It’s like looking through a pane of glass at the face Hank has become so familiar with - distorted and strange in ways that are hard to pin down, but instantly recognizable all the same.

This new Connor has slightly darker ears peeking out from his impeccably coiffed hair, and there is an obscene amount of creamy white skin on display - from the pale column of his neck down to his chest, and then further down where his legs peek in and out of the robe as he saunters towards them. Saunters or stalks, Hank can’t quite decide which is a better description, because there is definitely something predatory about the completely relaxed posture this man has. He sets one hand on his hip and the chains on his wrist rattle elegantly. How chains can rattle elegantly, Hank isn’t sure, but they’re managing it now. 

“Fancy meeting you here, brother,” the man says, his voice also the same as Connor’s but slightly different. Dripping with a little bit more smugness, maybe, and less bright around the edges. His smile, which is too wide to be sincere, exposes the same sharp teeth that Hank had often traced with his own tongue. At his side, Connor stiffens, and Hank turns his head slightly to find him staring with suspicious eyes and slightly bared teeth at the figure in front of him.

“Connor,” Connor says, but the intonation makes it sound like it’s not just his own name coming out of his mouth, “Were you behind all of this?” Hank remembers, as if it’s knowledge from a dream and not like, several weeks ago, that Connor had said he had many brothers who all looked like him and all shared the same name. It made sense, then, for him to be looking at a slightly wrong version of Connor who was also called Connor. In the same way anything in Hank’s life made sense since he had started sleeping with an ancient god who could turn into a fox. 

The other Connor laughs at that, and gives a sarcastic round of applause that just makes Connor scowl harder. “Of course I was, idiot. What, did you think Elijah fucking Kamski was smart enough to pull off a stunt like this? He may be a millionaire, but he’s still a human,” he explains, and the sheer amount of contempt in his voice when he says ‘human’ leaves a sour taste in Hank’s mouth. There’s definitely some kind of unresolved issue there, that’s for sure. Hank didn’t have to do several decades of police work to be able to tell that. 

“Why?” Connor splutters, seemingly completely at a loss, his eyes still fixed completely on his brother. It’s like he’s not here, Hank realizes, and he’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Not-Connor, who really does need a different name, rolls his eyes with all the practice of a beleaguered teen, and groans out, “Fuck, why are you all so obsessed with  _ why _ ? Why not? What’s stopping me? It’s not like Mother’s going to come smack me on the wrist for misbehaving!” He snorts out a breath and adds, “And it’s not like any of you are strong enough to stop me. All I had to do was find a human to manipulate who had the resources I needed and presto! I’m living the life.”

Suddenly, not-Connor’s eyes slide across to fixate on Hank, who decides that it was definitely better when neither god was paying attention to him. Now he feels slightly like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, the scrutiny of those brown eyes a physical weight on his chest. Is it getting warmer? It certainly smells like a summer day, and Hank isn’t sure if that’s a cause for alarm or not. Connor seems to think so, as he puts one arm protectively in front of Hank and steps forward slightly, clearly positioning himself as a sort of shield.

“And who might this be?” Not-Connor asks, a honeyed smile spreading across his face. “Won’t you do me the pleasure of an introduction?” 

Hank wasn’t going to do it anyways, but Connor growls (growls!) and snaps, “None of your business, is who he is. You can’t have him.” 

His brother laughs, tutting and shaking his head as if he’s dealing with a wayward child. “Aw, somebody’s a little protective, hm? Don’t worry, I don’t want him, I just want to get as much information as possible out of him before I kill him. Can’t have a human liability running around knowing our business like this, not when Elijah’s so close to our goal.”

The threat is so bold-faced that at first Hank doesn’t even register it, and then suddenly his jaw is dropping open in shock. “What the  _ fuck?! _ ” he gasps out, because that’s the only retort his mind can come up with for being threatened with bodily harm by an ancient fox god. What does that even mean, is he going to maul him to death? Does he have a gun? The thought of a god with a gun is ridiculous, but the way this one looks, Hank wouldn’t put it past him. Regardless, he’s suddenly sorry he didn’t bring his own firearm, electing to avoid the headache of paperwork and legal action that might be brought against him if he was caught carrying it off duty.

“You so much as think about touching him, and you’ll regret it. I’ll make you wish you could join whoever the fuck is tied to that ring.”

The voice that speaks next is so foreign that at first Hank doesn’t recognize it. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Connor, but transformed, his face twisted into a sick looking snarl that shows every one of his razor sharp teeth. Ears back, eyes glinting, and hands balled into fists, he looks like a completely different person than the bubbly, happy man Hank has come to be quite fond of. It’s enough to cause his heart to stutter in fear before he calms himself. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Connor would never hurt him.

The other Connor though, he looks ready to commit that murder he was talking about. His stance has changed, and his hands aren’t balled into fists, but instead spread menacingly to highlight his… fuck, are those claws? His ears are back and his mouth is curled into a matching snarl. “You always were a sentimental fool!” he hisses, “You really think you have the guts to hurt me? To hurt me hard enough to  _ make it count _ ?” 

Hank doesn’t know what any of that means, but he certainly doesn’t like where this is going. He reaches out to try and grab ahold of Connor’s shirt but he’s already stepping forward towards his brother, crouched and circling like a predator. It’s such a strange sight, these two seemingly identical figures facing off against each other. Apart from their clothes it would almost be impossible to tell them apart from a distance - Hank almost has to laugh at the ridiculous difference between them now though. Connor, in his brilliantly colored hawaiian t-shirt, and his brother in his maroon silken robe and shining jewelry. Two halves of some mutant whole.

Hank knows he should say something, or try to pull the two apart, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s a heaviness to the air, a crackle of energy that he doesn’t know how to interpret. His limbs feel weighted, as if it would take an extreme amount of effort to lift them. He looks down to make sure there isn’t anything actually holding him back, and misses the first exchange of blows. Connor yowls in pain, and Hank manages to yank his head up to see there’s a set of claw marks across his bicep - angry red slashes that make his heart squeeze dangerously in his chest. He’s helpless, and Connor is in  _ pain _ .

The other god seems to enjoy this, laughing cruelly as they continue to circle one another. “See? Weak. You can’t stop me, even when his life depends on it” he sneers, summer heat thick in the air, and that is the exact moment everything shatters. Hank feels a sensation of cold wash over him like a shower of sudden rain, and he sees a blurry movement of limbs, and suddenly the two figures in front of him are one writhing mass on the ground. There’s a scream like nothing he’s ever heard before, loud and piercing enough to make Hank clap his hands over his ears from the pain. It’s only when he opens his eyes that he realizes three important things. One, he can move again. Two, he had his eyes closed. And three, there is a lot of blood.

Like, a distressing amount of blood, splashed on the ground and coating the figure lying down, who is weakly struggling and kicking his legs. The victor on top is Connor, Hank realizes with a shock of relief, but as he turns his face to look at him it’s like something out of a horror movie. Teeth dripping bright red droplets, trails of blood coat Connor’s chin and run down his throat. His tongue darts out to lick away some piece of gore, and only succeeds in smearing it around his mouth further. It’s like he’s… like he’s ripped his brother’s throat out. Which Hank realizes is exactly what has happened, eyes going wide with the realization. 

The other Connor is gurgling faintly out of half his windpipe, hands flapping uselessly at the ground and mouth silently moving open and closed. He’s gone limp otherwise, all the anger and fight gone out of him as he lays on the ground like some kind of doll. Hank finally finds his voice, even if it comes out as a croak at first.

“Connor holy shit. Connor did you  _ kill _ him?! Are you alright??” 

Connor sniffs like he’s been asked a stupid question, and struggles to his feet, stepping over the body of his brother like it’s nothing. He’s wiping his bloodied hands on his shirt, which really isn’t helping the already horrendous color clash, and all Hank can think dimly is ‘that’s not going to wash out’. He never really considers himself lucky for being a police officer for so long, but right now it’s a blessing that the smell of fresh blood isn’t making him want to gag. The sight of not Connor bleeding out does though, so he carefully doesn’t look down.

“Of course I didn’t kill him. And I’m fine, promise!” Connor chirps, standing in front of Hank and looking at him expectantly, like he wants a hug or a high five or something. Which he’s not getting, he’s disgusting. 

“What do you mean  _ of course _ ?” Hank says, like that’s the most important piece of information here. Connor has the audacity to smile at that and chuckle, totally unfazed by this whole situation. “He’s a god. He can’t die. It’s just going to take him a few hours to recover enough to get up and chase after us. Maybe more. Plenty of time to get out of here,” he finally explains, and suddenly the phrase ‘hurt me hard enough to make it count’ makes a lot more sense.

“So he’s just gonna get up eventually?” Hank says incredulously, gesturing at the corpse laid out on the ground next to them. Which, okay, hasn’t gone limp and lifeless yet, even though it very much should have with that kind of a throat wound. There’s still life in the god’s eyes, and in the way his hands twitch like he very much wants to make a grab for Connor’s ankles. So maybe with everything that’s happening right now, Hank can add ‘unkillable gods’ to the list of things he’s willing to accept as real.

“Yes. In several hours. Serves him right, he'll have to lay out here while he puts himself back together,” Connor spits, glaring at his brother on the ground. Turning to Hank, he smiles again in a way that implies he has no idea he looks absolutely terrifying. “Don’t worry, Hank. I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he says, and in that moment it almost feels like a threat. It’s in moments like these that Hank is suddenly aware of who he’s opened his heart to - not just a cheerful, loving man who often forgot what he was talking about, but a god. One who has teeth and claws and a history Hank has no way of comprehending. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hank says, because that’s something he can control, and right now he needs something like that. “You’re not going anywhere looking like that.” 

Connor laughs, and suddenly the familiar Connor is back, as he looks down at his clothes and says sheepishly, “I probably ruined this shirt, I’m sorry. We can go shopping together!” 

_ Absolutely not _ , Hank thinks to himself, but out loud he just says, “I’ve got plenty of shirts at home.” Which is possibly the most dad-like thing he’s ever uttered in his entire goddamn life. Even taking into consideration all that time he spent as an actual dad.

They walk back to the car together, and Hank pulls one of Sumo’s old towels out of the backseat of the car and cleans Connor’s brother’s blood off his mouth like it’s something normal. Which Hank very much hopes isn’t going to become the case. That’s how Gavin and Niles find them, and Hank takes their appearance as an excuse to give up on cleaning Connor off. They’ve got bigger problems to worry about, so he just lays down a bunch of towels to try and protect what’s left of his car. At least dog drool is easy to explain, blood not so much. The Kamski mansion fades in the rearview mirror, and Connor reaches across to hold Hank’s hand as he drives.

Okay, so maybe if this is his new normal, Hank can learn to live with it.

* * *

As Connor lies on the ground and watches his brother leave with his human, all he can manage to feel is a dull sense of rage. How dare he do this? How dare he get to walk away like that, just like that, like nothing had happened? If he could, Connor would scream all manner of curses at his back, anything to express the anger bubbling up inside him. But instead all he can do is lie here and bleed on the unforgiving ground outside a nondescript door to the mansion. It’s not even a nice place to bleed out in, although the poison ivy bursting up through the grass and surrounding his body is helping the decor a little bit. 

It’s still hard to believe he’s been bested, and by one of his weaker brothers no less, but even Connor can’t call breathing through a hole in the side of his throat anything but a defeat. He looks up at the sky because that’s the only place he  _ can _ look, what with how his head has landed. The shock is dying out, and the anger, as the clouds drift across his vision. It’s been a long time since he was injured like this to the point of bleeding heavily, and the sensation is strange. It feels like a memory, almost. Like he’s remembering the way this used to hurt, each labored breath a shock of pain through his weakened body.

_ You were so frightened _ , Connor thinks to himself, the dialogue with the ghost in his mind an unwelcome guest,  _ you were so frightened. But of what? _

He wishes very deeply that he did not know the answer to that question. He wishes he could forget, but that was a lie. Connor had given up the ability to lie to himself about this when he put the ring around his neck and carried it with him for hundreds of years. This was all very unfair, and the poison ivy curls more aggressively around his splayed limbs, reacting to the emotions he is very much unable to express right now. 

Time passes - how much, Connor is unsure. And suddenly, there’s the sound of a door opening, and the figure of Elijah Kamski comes into view. Connor can feel his emotions swirling around him, like foul clouds. He’s angry, and Connor knows then that they’ve been betrayed. All of their hard work ruined, by some insignificant fucking human. His own anger rises up and spills out of his throat in bubbles, the crimson staining Elijah’s pants where he’s crouched down next to Connor.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Elijah sneers, looking at him with the kind of incredulous disgust that he usually reserves for the beasts in his laboratory. Perhaps Connor has been too lax with him. Perhaps he will need to remind him just who he’s speaking to. Once he can speak again, of course. For now, the ivy trails up from the ground and curls angrily around Elijah’s designer leather shoes, which doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He looks over the body of the god splayed out in front of him with curiosity and disgust, and stretches out his fingers.

Connor can do nothing but watch as those fingers swipe across his chest and gather up his blood. The chains jangle and stick to his skin in an unpleasant way as Elijah disturbs them, and his eyes watch in dawning horror as the human turns his hand this way and that to admire the red stain on his fingertips.

“I’ve always wondered, you know. Why you’re so fucking weird about your blood. About making sure I never got any. And I have to say, I don’t suspect that’s to protect me,” Elijah muses to himself, ignoring the croaking groans pitching out of Connor’s open throat. “Seeing as how I’ve just been robbed of two of my possessions… I think it’s time I took a little something back, don’t you?”

The ivy is practically exploding up Elijah’s legs now, constricting painfully, but it’s too late. His blue eyes stay fixed on Connor’s glassy brown ones as he licks the blood from his fingers and swallows it down, invoking a magic he has no ability to conceptualize. So many millennia of being careful, so many wasted moments, all ruined by the action of one human in a fit of petty rage. Their gaze only breaks as Elijah’s eyes roll back in his head, the bond taking effect and instantly welcoming Connor’s pain into his body - all of his pain, all at once.

There’s not even enough air in Elijah’s lungs to scream as he writhes on the floor, and Connor manages to curl his lip into a sneer with some effort. It serves him right, for daring to bind himself to a god. Connor knows that the insolence and pain and anger from these first few moments will color their lives together for millennia more to come, staining the bond between them permanently.

Because now, they cannot be parted. The blood of a god will hold Elijah to this earth for as long as his god walks it. He’ll lose a part of himself, but he’ll never be robbed of Connor. Not even if both of them wished it. 

And oh, how Connor already wishes that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always, all kudos and comments at any time are cherished and appreciated <3
> 
> So here we are, with a big ol revelation on our hands! This marks sort of the end of the first ‘arc’ of this series, as it were, with the next parts transitioning into different stories for our cast of characters. I hope you’ve enjoyed this ride along with me, and I want to thank each and every one of you lovely readers! Those of you who have been encouraging me along the way have all of my love and gratitude <3 <3
> 
> When I started this series I said “I wanna write the Cyberlife Tower scene but it’s dumb because the Connors are dressed different” and here we are!! I did it! I hope you found it to be as amusing and also as satisfying of a little twist as I did C: 
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always I'm available on [tumblr](https://ohnomybreadsticks.tumblr.com/) if you ever feel like chatting or reading some of my lil drabbles, I’d love to see you there <3


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